


Puppy Love

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-13
Updated: 2004-06-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Written at the request of sogay, who wanted Justin to bring Brian a puppy. Spoilers up to 409.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian hates to be coddled, hates it so much that when it comes to deciding whether to tell his closest friends that he has cancer, he decides against it. It's mostly because he doesn't want everyone to treat him as if he's about to topple over, and only sort of because he's pretty sure they'll secretly be smug that The Great Brian Kinney is no longer a perfect specimen of fagitude. But it's mainly because there's only so much chicken soup he can imbibe whilst everyone looks on with watery eyes and white-knuckled clasped hands. 

So Brian is pissed off when Justin not only finds out the secret he thinks he's done such a great job of concealing, but also spills the proverbial beans to Michael, who in turn sends a story off to CNN and all of the other major news networks. Pretty soon, the entire world, or at least, the whole of Liberty Avenue knows about his "predicament", and so if Brian wasn't taking up an almost hermit-like residence in his loft before, wanting to preserve his sanity and strength has upped it from a mere choice to a necessity. He cuts off contact from everyone, which isn't all that surprising since he attempts something like this at least three or four times a year, and his friends are used to it.

Justin is the only one who does not stand for it, though. Brian has always admired and hated simultaneously how persistent his lover is - Justin has Brian wrapped around his cock and they both fucking know it. So Brian can hardly protest when Justin shows up even after Brian has kicked him out with chicken soup simmering on the stove and a few choice words designed to put Brian in his place. He's not surprised when Justin asks for an extension on his assignments for PIFA for a few days, just so he can stay home and make sure Brian isn't overexerting himself the way he knows Brian likes to do. 

But he is, admittedly, at least vaguely shocked when he hears Justin return from a shopping expedition, cooing to someone or something. "Shhh, calm down, it's okay, I'm not going to drop you," he says softly, but Brian hears him anyways and stumbles out of bed to investigate. He's pretty sure Justin wouldn't be bringing tricks home, least of all carry them over the threshold, and since he doesn't seem to be accompanied by the munchers, Brian's pretty sure it's not Gus that Justin is cooing to. Curiosity peaked, he ambles down the stairs and comes to an abrupt halt on the last step. 

"You're awake," Justin says brightly, but it's not him Brian's attention is focused on - it's the small, wiggly, black-and-tanned puppy currently trying to extract itself from Justin's grasp. 

"A dog?" Brian chokes out. "You -- why is there a dog? In my loft?" Gears clicking slowly now in his mind, he adds in an accusatory tone, "you have animal allergies."

"It's a smooth-haired dachshund," Justin replies, as if that explains everything. "They hardly shed, there's minimal grooming, and they aren't overpowering enough to trigger my allergies." He presses his noses into the puppy's fur and inhales briefly to prove his point.

"I never wanted a pet," Brian says flatly. "And if I did, it wouldn't have been a fucking hot-dog shaped animal." Said hot-dog shaped animal lets out a tiny 'yip' in protest, then nibbles at Justin's fingers until the blond sets him down on the floor.

Justin's face falls momentarily, but the expression is quickly replaced with one of defiance; Brian is pretty sure the boy has been taking lessons from Debbie. "Goddammit, Brian," he hisses. "You just can't accept the fact that people care enough about you to do things like buy you occasional presents and make sure you're not overdoing it. You've had a fucking ball removed," he continues as the puppy begins sniffing the floor in exploratory curiosity. "You're not going to be in tip-top shape, and you can't expect yourself to recover immediately and without anyone's help. So stop being a goddamned fucking pussy and just accept it!" 

Brian opens his mouth to reply, but it turns into a gape of horror as he watches, practically in slow motion, as the puppy piddles on the floor. His floor. The dog is -- oh, God, not number two! "Justin," he whimpers, but the blond is already reaching into the bags he'd set on the counter earlier and pulling out pet-related paraphernalia. The spot on his now-ruined rug gleams; Brian is sure that it smells atrocious, too. His stomach turns in anticipation of inhaling the toxic dog urine fumes, and suddenly, he's hurrying briskly to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet bowl, and dry heaving. 

Justin, who has become accustomed to these vomit-y interludes ever since Brian has started going to follow-up treatment for his testicle removal, simply reaches for a glass and fills it with water. The puppy, meanwhile, stumbles into the bathroom and over to a haggard-looking Brian and paws at his bare foot, tail wagging furiously; Brian resists the urge to kick it. 

The next afternoon, Justin half-expects to return to a puppy-less loft, Brian having dropped it off at the pound in spite. He is, instead, greeted by the sounds of somebody -- could it possibly be Brian? -- cooing. "Oh, you like your belly rubbed, don't you?" he's saying, and Justin holds his breath, not wanting to ruin the moment. "You're easily impressed, aren't you, Ian?" he continues, and Justin busts up laughing.

"The hell?" Brian glares once he realizes his lover has been eavesdropping. The puppy - Ian, apparently - gazes at Justin in a shocking parody of the expression, and Justin grins.

"Glad to see you've bonded," he smiles, tossing his over-shoulder bag on the counter and reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. He pauses for a moment and then asks, "Ian?"

Brian shrugs defensively. "I got used to the fiddler hanging around for those few months that we -- that you -- I got used to him being a pest. At least with this Ian, I don't mind sharing you with him." 

Justin blinks a few times to rid himself of the spontaneous bout of tears that threaten to slide down his cheeks. He sniffs and then coughs, mouth curving into a small smile. "I -- I'm just going to go make you some soup."


	2. Puppy Love

Brian usually enjoys waking up to greet the day, and takes a deep breath, waiting to inhale the crisp, clear scent of the morning. 

What he gets instead is a strong whiff of something that makes him gag. "Justin," he wheezes, hand flying up to protect his nose from the sordid scent. The blond cracks one eye open warily, and Brian isn't sure if there's a way to constructively ask what he's about to ask, so he finally just plunges ahead. "Did you -- why do I smell piss?"

Justin sits up and sniffs the air curiously, nose crinkling a moment later. "Ewww," he comments, and then, realizing the implication, "it wasn't me, Brian." 

"Well, I know better than to piss the bed," Brian grunts. "So if it's not either of us, then who co-"

"Rrrrr!" 

Suddenly, Brian has a flash of insight. Gingerly, he picks up the duvet and stares with abject horror at the small mound of dog logs, with a side order of Ian-produced piss, sitting on the sheets. Ian, meanwhile, has claimed Brian's pillows as his own, curling up in a dachshund-y donut and tucking his nose into his fur. 

"Oh," says Brian. "Oh, God, the -- my bed, he shit in my bed --" Fairly falling off the side of said bed, Brian clasps his hand over his mouth and hurries towards the bathroom; seconds later, the sound of retching is all that Justin hears. 

"Better?" he queries after his now-significantly-paler lover returns, teeth freshly brushed and eyes watery. Ian wags his tail, recognizing his disgruntled owner, and Brian just scowls. 

"Well," says Justin, not wanting one little incident spoil the day. He begins to strip the bed, flushing the doggie defecation down the toilet now that Brian isn't bent over it blowing chunks, and treats his lover to one of his patented "Sunshine Smiles" before adding, "so did you want pancakes and sausage for breakfast?"


End file.
